


The Hand Not Holding Beer

by campylobacter



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alcohol, Comment Fic, Community: comment_fic, F/M, Karaoke, Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-12
Updated: 2010-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-13 15:35:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/campylobacter/pseuds/campylobacter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What song would Daniel sing on the karaoke machine at Siler's promotion party? Based on the prompt "drunken karaoke" by dannysgirlsg1 at comment_fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hand Not Holding Beer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dannysgirlsg1](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=dannysgirlsg1).



> [](http://www.gatefic.com/awards/2011-awards-winners)LJ comment fic's usually 4300 characters (700-800 words) long. Um, this one got out of control.  
> SPOILERS: actually, just brief references to 9x02 "Avalon 2", 9x06 "Beachhead", 10x08 "Memento Mori"  
> TIMELINE: post-Continuum

[   
](http://pics.livejournal.com/campylobacter/pic/000x8wx0/g19)

Teal'c had just delivered the final verse of a spoken-word, monotone rendition of "Rawhide" when Cam grabbed the microphone and shouted "Kick it!"

Sam crinkled her nose in anticipation of brief violence, but the Jaffa gave Cam a patient nod, picked up his glass of double malt scotch, and regally returned to the seat next to her.

"Samantha Carter, I have not yet complimented you on the clarity of your performance of 'The Galaxy Song'."

"Aw, thank you, Teal'c," she smiled, and sipped her margarita. "I figured I'd go ahead and correct the distances cited in the lyrics, you know, given that the original words were written before..." She trailed off when Cam yelled out _Nowwwww yer mom threw away yer best porno mag_ and a surprising number of party guests chimed in. "Hoo boy," she sighed, "what's he been drinking?"

"I believe it is called 'Red Stripe'."

"He's still on his first," Vala interjected. "And there's yet half a bottle left." Sam noticed the stubby bottle of lager on the end table just as Vala grabbed it and took a swig. "But yes, Samantha: your performance was exceedingly accurate and a fitting commentary on Tau— erhm, Earth-centric attitudes."

Daniel, aloof from most of the festivities, was frowning and squinting myopically at the hyperactive colonel while nursing his second Hefeweizen. Vala took her umpteenth shot of Goldshlaeger with the hand not holding Cam's beer and then tickled Daniel's ear with a lock of her dark, shiny hair. "Daniel, move out so I can cue 'Banana Boat Song' next."

"No." Daniel scowled and batted at her with a semi-distracted hand. "Not again. If I hear _Day-O_ one more time..."

"You'll tie me up?" she rejoined with an innocent batting of lashes, and began to climb over the back of the couch to escape from the corner he'd blocked her into.

Daniel clumsily hauled her back. "I'll take a turn if you promise never to sing that song again."

Sam could barely believe her ears, but after a scuffle of squirming, more hand-batting, and finger-pointing, Vala settled back into the seat and Daniel actually made his way to the karaoke machine. The archaeologist had never before participated in karaoke, usually preferring to merely observe and limit himself to one early beer followed by an hour's worth of water until he excused himself with a lot of yawning.

"I doubt _Rock Band 3_ , let alone Siler's karaoke machine, have whatever Daniel wants to sing," Sam mused skeptically. "Although I'm curious to see everyone's reaction to Egypt's national anthem..."

"He will obviously have to download the digital file from the internet," Teal'c remarked, tearing his eyes away from Cam playing an air guitar solo. "As you and I had to do."

As Cam and a chorus of Beastie Boys fans finished the song, Daniel still hadn't started his number, so the newly-promoted Staff Sergeant Siler (the honoree of the party) took the mic and performed a newer song. Unfortunately, its refrain was vaguely similar to the song Daniel forbade Vala to sing; she shouted _Ay-O_ with the rest of the crowd as she welcomed Cameron back to his seat.

"Jackson already left?" he asked, reclaiming his beer from Vala.

"No; he's finally consented to serenade me, like a proper suitor," Vala announced.

"From... the bathroom? And... _suitor_?"

"From the microphone, Cameron." She pointed. "And he took me to a fancy restaurant last night."

Sam exchanged a warning glance with Cam and set down her margarita, but he ignored her and asked, "Was his shirt pressed?"

Vala frowned. "What? He was slightly rumpled, as usual. Why...?"

"Did he open doors for you and pull out a chair for you at the table?" he continued.

"Not... really," Vala said doubtfully. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Oh... everything," he answered with a slow exhale.

Vala tossed her head, causing one of the thin straps of her shimmery gold top to slide off her shoulder. "He couldn't keep his eyes off me the entire night."

Sam shot Cam another warning glare to prevent him from making a cheap remark about stealing silverware, but the sound of Daniel's amplified voice interrupted all conversation.

" _Was ist los mit dir mein Schatz? Ah ha. Geht es immer nur bergab. Ah ha._ "

"Holy Sprockets, it's Dieter!" Cam exclaimed.

Daniel was speaking into the microphone while a tinny, vapid, electronic 4-note tune repeated in the background. Most everyone else in the room stopped their conversations and hooted encouragement and laughter at the normally reticent archaeologist carefully enunciating German lyrics. Sam clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from chuckling like a chipmunk, instantly recalling the timeline when she'd accompanied Daniel while he impersonated the son of Heinrich Grϋber, trying to fool Catherine Langford.

"He sounds Dutch," one of the party guests commented. "Reminds me of a guy from the Netherlands I met while stationed in Spangdahlem..."

"What's he saying?" Vala asked, rising on the couch to perch on her knees for a better view of Daniel.

"Da da da," answered Cam.

"Yes, very helpful, Cameron, but what does it mean?"

"It's German for da, da, da."

" _Ich lieb dich nicht du liebst mich nicht_ ," chanted Daniel, making no effort to sing a melody.

"Is it naughty?" she asked Sam, who tried to hide a grin behind her margarita glass.

Sam shook her head. "It's... I have no idea, to tell you the truth. Although that song was in a car commercial years ago..."

The guest standing behind the couch leaned over and spoke into Vala's ear. Sam saw her listen intently as she kept her eyes on Daniel, and then frown as she tried to pay attention to both speakers. After the guest withdrew, Vala's shoulders slumped and her frown lost its intensity, replaced by an expression more fragile. Abruptly, Vala bounced off the couch and made her way through the cluster of people gathered around the ice cooler.

"Bring me another beer," Cam called after her, "to replace the one you drank."

Daniel finished his song to general laughter and applause and returned to the couch, but didn't sit. "Where's Vala? Did I just humiliate myself for nothing?"

"You drove her to drink," Cam groused. "Reckon she made off with the beer I asked her to fetch."

Daniel slumped into the couch and drank some bottled water. "I'm done for the night. As soon as she finishes whatever she's drinking, I'll drive her back to Base and then head home to get enough sleep for a long day tomorrow."

"Don't bother with tomorrow, Jackson." Cam stood and began to head for the keg. "General Landry's delaying the mission another two days so that Grogan's team can heal from that rash."

"I heard that, Colonel," Captain Grogan shouted from the patio.

"So Daniel, the restaurant you went to last night... was it any good?" Sam asked as lightly as possible, to deflect her growing worry over Vala's continued absence.

"Um, Jorge's, the Mexican place. It was fine. Thought she'd enjoy mariachi night," Daniel answered absently, craning his neck to look around the room. "Vala didn't gloat about the _vihuela_ player who tried to serenade her...?"

"Daniel Jackson, I believe Vala Mal Doran has left the party."

"She what?" He blinked in confusion. "Hey, where are my keys?" Daniel muttered, rising from the couch and patting his jeans pockets. "Why'd she leave?"

"I believe Airman Choi translated the lyrics of your song to her," Teal'c replied with ominous gravity.

"Oh, crap," Daniel said, clearly agitated. "I didn't mean... oh crap." He rushed out, stumbling once, leaving Sam to exchange a troubled grimace with Teal'c.

\- - -

The chill of late autumn air hit Daniel's sinuses and shocked him into a more lucid state, allowing the recent memory of where he'd parked to rise to the front of his mind. As he descended the stairs, each word of what he'd "sung" with the karaoke machine synchronized with each step. _Ich lieb dich nicht du liebst mich nicht._

 _I don't love you, you don't love me._

Heading across the street from Mitchell's apartment, Daniel hoped his first guess — that Vala had pick-pocketed his keys and fled to his car — would be the correct one, and that his second guess — that he'd lost his keys and she'd hitched a ride — would be the incorrect one. Because then there'd be the chance that his annoyingly fussy car alarm would delay her long enough for him to catch up.

Not far from the streetlight, he spotted his hybrid SUV where he'd parallel-parked it. Relief washed over him; he jogged faster, straining for a glimpse of her inside.

He found her slumped against the steering wheel, nearly invisible, her cloud of black hair blending with the shadows. She didn't budge when he gently rapped on the glass. "Vala, it's me. Unlock the door."

A long minute passed, filled with the strains of mariachi music emanating from the radio inside, before she sat up, her face turned from him, and leaned toward the passenger side to release its lock. Daniel convinced himself that the cold night air, not desperation, hurried his footsteps. As he entered the vehicle and settled into the seat, he noticed that Vala kept her face averted.

He turned down the radio volume to a barely audible level. "I'm sorry. I didn't..." he trailed off, sensing that the situation was past mere apology.

Facing the driver's side window, she let out a cynical gust of breath. "I should thank you for letting me know," she said, her voice raspy and raw. "I'd hate to find out the hard way, such as being left to dehydrate and starve for three days in a public square, or at the end of a _naquadah_ caper involving a getaway cargo ship."

Through the last haze of alcohol, Daniel slowly recognized her references to Tomin and Jacek, the men who loomed largest in her life through their betrayal of her trust. He swallowed hard at the sudden import of being ranked with husband, with father. "You love them, despite trying not to."

"Perhaps I don't, and am fooling myself," she whispered, turning her head to face the front windshield, "just like your song says." She sat perfectly still, her profile majestic, impassive. In the light of the sodium street lamp, everything looked one color — that unnatural, metallic yellow — transforming Vala into a sculpture cast in well-worn bronze, the tears on her cheek citrine beads.

 _Ich lieb dich nicht du liebst mich nicht_. The words echoed in his head in bilingual counterpoint to the cheerful Mexican music on the radio.

The worst kind of self-contradiction — denial — had hurt someone besides himself. "Vala, I'm sorry," he began again, trying to salvage the rapport he'd ruined. "That was just a stupid joke. It was a song I used to recite in grad school to annoy my friends, who enjoyed making fun of my German."

She closed her eyes, breaking the illusion of a statue, a caryatid felled by the weight of a long burden. "Daniel, words... _mean_ things."

Vala had always been a woman of action, not of words, and Daniel was taken aback by the irony. "I oughtta be the one saying that," he muttered.

"I _oughtta_ punch you," she sniffed, with a wry smile, "but my fist still smarts from clouting that Lucian Alliance scoundrel who tried to behead Cameron."

"I wouldn't blame you if you did punch me," Daniel commented lightly, taking in the beauty of her resilience, of her dignity, waiting for her to turn her eyes toward him. In more frequent moments, the light those eyes cast shone into places inside he'd long kept dark. He reached over and took her injured hand in his, gently caressing her bruised knuckles with the pad of his thumb. "Well, I know Mitchell feels grateful that his head's still attached."

"But how could you not know how _I'd_ feel? About that song?" Still facing forward and sitting upright, she took a breath that created enough movement for the shimmering threads in her camisole to sparkle like fitful stars.

A rising panic closed his throat; he barely managed to stammer, "I, I could never be sure."

“Daniel, what is it about me that frightens you so?” And then her eyes, glittering brighter from the tears he'd caused, turned toward him and shone fearlessly into his own. Their connection, from the moment they'd first met, had never faltered, but had gradually developed into a rare, strange, and necessary conduit that bound each of their weaknesses to the other's corresponding strength.

So many men had failed her; and yet she'd chosen to risk another venture — a new way of life — with explorers, not scoundrels. He once believed that she wouldn't commit, would only toy with his heart if he let her. But at the moment, as he held the hand that she'd injured to protect her team, he realized it was he who'd belittled her intentions, and had judged her based on a way of life she'd abandoned for almost three years.

“If I ever lost you, after losing my wife, I'd...” Memories of two sleepless weeks searching for Vala after the Trust had abducted her flashed across his mind, and of her earlier absence through the Ori beachhead. Of _twice_ not being able to save her (and Sallis) from the fire of sanctimonious dogma. The alcohol that had caused his earlier lapse in judgment now acted as a discrete hurdle he had to surmount with a final leap of clarity.

He let go her hand.

Then, leaning over the center console between their seats, he cupped each side of her face with steady palms and brought her lips to his.

She gasped in surprise; her mouth was cold and firm, but as she exhaled slowly, her breath warmed their lips and softened the contact. She tentatively brought her hand to his neck, neither pushing him away nor pulling him closer. He let the kiss linger, let the sensation of connecting to her on a physical level release a flood of emotions so intense that sight and sound were overwhelmed by touch.

As she leaned away to catch her breath, he saw in her eyes evidence that she, too, felt the same way.

"Vala, I... I do lo—"

"Da, da, da," she laughed, and fell into his arms for another kiss, this time deep enough for him to taste the spicy cinnamon from the Goldshlaeger through the bitter hops of Mitchell's beer.


End file.
